


The Past, the Present, and the Future

by destroyallmonsters, godcomplexfics (godtiercomplex)



Series: The World Keeps Turning On Its Axis [14]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 30 day drabble challenge, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:32:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4051642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destroyallmonsters/pseuds/destroyallmonsters, https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiercomplex/pseuds/godcomplexfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look through drabbles at the life and times of South Asia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings (Nalin)

**Author's Note:**

> 30 Day Drabble Challenge with some chapters being collaborated on, and some being written solo.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written by Sammya.

Having the best intentions, Nalin finds, doesn’t mean that you are a good person. He is sure that Persia meant well, years ago. He knows that Arthur thought he was doing good at the time. He knows that America tries his hardest. He knows that they are, in the end, not human, but still possess a sort of human moral outlook.

This is the first step, he finds, towards admitting that he was wrong. He can start to say this, but can never bring himself to look his siblings in the eyes and apologize. He knows that he will keep messing up, but some of the things he has done were too extreme, too unnecessarily wrong.

If Arthur can express his regrets, why can’t Nalin bring himself to do the same? And not in the stilted manner of the white man, but in a proper way, in a way his mother would approve of.

He cannot do it.

He knows that he must, but he cannot bring himself to say the words.

 

What Nalin truly wants, after thousands of years of living, is to take back everything he did to make his siblings so afraid of him. Akmal flinches when he speaks to him in anything approaching a tone of voice that reminds him of Nalin’s disciplinary actions from long ago. Emran shows shades of fear sometimes, but he hides it better, seemingly unafraid to call Nalin out on his intimidation tactics. He’s not even aware he is using them most of the time. His personality, as Tashi once put it, is just an overwhelming force to be reckoned with, and he must take care.

Nalin tries to take care, but it is difficult when he is always right.

 

He knows he is not always right. He makes mistakes, and he can own up to them for the most part. But for each mistake he makes, someone else fucks up worse and he feels validated in his errors.

 

He remembers nights, long ago when Akmal was still Aahan, when they would sit outside and he would play for him. He wonders if anyone sings to Akmal now when he cannot sleep. He fears that Akmal doesn’t remember that not everything between them was harsh words and violence. Then he realizes that for so long he did not feel anything between them that was not overwhelming hate.

 

He isn’t sure how to stop hating Akmal, but he finds that it’s becoming easier as time passes on. It’s a wound that he’s allowed to heal and scab over, but that doesn’t mean it stops being a wound. It doesn’t mean that it stops hurting, and aching, and causing him to be made aware of it. An itch that doesn’t stop, a wound that’s always healing because he cannot leave it alone. He knows that few things that leave such an impact will ever truly heal. He knows that this might be his greatest mistake.


	2. Beginnings (Akmal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's two sides to every story, and Akmal's side is much more severe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Shilly!

For every scowl Akmal puts upon his face, the crease of his brows, the gnashing of his teeth, his eyes always seem to give away what he’s really feeling. He carries his head high on his shoulders; he walks with a proud swagger and he does not speak, he snarls. Akmal doesn’t look at his fellow nations directly in the eye, because he knows they will expose his emotions. Thankfully, this tactic keeps nations away, shivering at his eerie presence. Akmal stands dominant, but he does not feel dominant.

If Akmal really wanted to, he’d cower like an injured dog at the sight of the nations who strike the most fear into his heart. Truth be told, the Pakistani would raise his hackles at his elder brother, Nalin, if that old shit ever even dared to talk to him, but of course, Akmal would do so with his eyes darted someplace else. Nalin’s voice scratched at his ears. It triggered memories that Akmal begged those above to repress, but to no avail. The back of his left eye aches when he sees Nalin.

Nalin was the one who killed him, stole his soldiers, beat his body when his age was all but tender.

Akmal is aware that his brothers and sisters--most of them, at least--feel the same of the overbearing force that is known as the patriarch of the South Asian family. Emran, too, flinches sometimes at the scathing tone of Nalin’s scolding, and Sri Lanka refuses to look Nalin head on. Akmal takes comfort in knowing his fear is shared. But he is alone in that his fear is more raw, and more evident.

 

Akmal kids himself when he proclaims that he is brave. His people are brave, and his army is brave, but he thinks of himself as something similar to a coward. He is ashamed to feel this way. He is Pakistan, the bravest nation in the world.

But being brave in the face of a new enemy is different than sharing the breathing space of the man who abused you.

 

Akmal is a person of faith, but he operates in a moral gray area. He fails to understand good and evil in its true form. He cannot decide if he is good or if he is evil. Thus, he claims that he is both. Life, as he puts it, manifests itself in light and in darkness, and God’s prayers are not always answered.

Maybe that is why he is scared of Nalin. Nalin raised him, kept him in good health, but in the same vein, turned his ears to cauliflower. Akmal has seen both sides of Nalin’s moral coin. He only wishes that he only saw the good side of Nalin; the side that played to young Akmal as he sat in his lap and listened intently.

 

Nalin’s wound is a scab, but Akmal’s wound continues to fester.


	3. Accusation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nalin must never know. Also, it’s all Aahan’s fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Sammya. 
> 
> Udit=Bangladesh, Aahan=Pakistan. Takes place vaguely in Mughal Empire times, during the earlier half.

 

The shattering glass stopped Udit from taking another step forward, and he stared at Aahan in shock for a long moment. His brother was bleeding and yet was already opening up his mouth to scream.

“That’s not my fault!” Udit declared, and it wasn’t because he had just pushed Aahan back. He hadn’t known the vase was there. This wasn’t usually where they played or fought.

Aahan swore, and then picked himself up. The glass vase was completely destroyed, unrecognizable for whatever it had been. Udit glanced around at which area of the palace their bickering had brought them to, and winced. They were near Nalin’s rooms, and the decorations all seemed like they had come from a certain kingdom to the west.

“It is your fault!” Aahan screamed back, his face twisted up with pain, “I’m going to die and it’s your fault!” He held up his bleeding arm as though it was evidence.

“You’re not!” Udit said, but then he considered Aahan. Unlike Nalin and himself, Aahan did not have a people. Udit didn’t even know why he existed. “You won’t die,” he said in a softer voice to get Aahan to stop looking like he was about to cry.

It was too late for Udit’s off handed kindness. Even though Aahan was just a bit bigger than him, and even though he rarely cried when Nalin disciplined him, he started crying. The crying attracted the attention of one of the maids, who Aahan allowed to clean his wounds.

“My prince,” she said, and soothed him as she assured them that the vase could get replaced. Udit followed them, just to be sure that Aahan would be okay.

* * *

 

For the most part, the injury healed up, but it still hurt if Aahan’s complaining later that evening were any indicator. Udit really wished that he didn’t get stuck babysitting so often--even if Aahan was fun to hang out with when he wasn’t being a brat or bossy.

At dinner, Nalin was reading over things. He was responsible for everything that Aahan was shaping up to be. Which to Udit was a spoiled rotten brat.

“Why on earth are you covered with bandages, little one?” Nalin asked when they had taken their seats, “I hope you and Udit did not fight again--oh, does this mean you won, Udit?”

“We weren’t fighting,” Udit said, and pinched the back of Aahan’s hand underneath the the folds of his shirt.

Nalin frowned, “Then why is Aahan so injured?”

“I’m not!” Aahan said, “We weren’t fighting, I just shouldn’t have tried to climb up that tree is all.”

“Oh? Well then,” Nalin said, “I hope a lesson was learned.”

Udit sighed when Nalin turned back to his papers, and he rested his hand in his palms, muttering just so Aahan would hear, “Still your fault.”

 

 


	4. Restless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It tickles Yao how often Akmal gets excited for someone so outwardly conservative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shilly here! Since Sammya and I decided to split drabble month between each other, we got to choose which drabbles we wanted to do individually and which ones we collaborated on. This is the first drabble of the month to be written solely by myself! I couldn't help but write about one of my favorite ships.
> 
> Yeah, Akmal is kind of a horny bastard. I imagine a lot of the younger countries have raging libidos, similar to human teenagers and young adults. Yao's has definitely slowed down in comparison. 
> 
> PakChina and RusInd are the main pairings for this drabble month, just for the sake of continuity alongside The World Keeps Turning On Its Axis. Expect a couple more naughty drabbles.

It tickles Yao how often Akmal gets excited for someone so outwardly conservative. He won’t indulge in alcohol, nor cigarettes, hell, nor drug use, but when it comes to sexual pleasure, Akmal jumps on the opportunity. Maybe it is because Akmal is young, and like other younger countries (from his experience raising them, at least) their sexual appetites frequent pleasure more often than they should.

His lover is strewn on his bed, his breath heavy, and his eyes glazed with desire. Yao grins, and though he isn’t aroused in the slightest himself, he can’t just leave Akmal hanging. Thankfully, Yao knew just the solution to that.

“You’re fine with toys, right?” Yao pads over to the closet, shuffling through clothes and cutesy little trinkets stashed unattractively inside.

"Yeah, yeah." Akmal grunts impatiently.

Yao grabs a large pink object and walks over to the nightstand, fetching lubricant. "How does a vibrator sound?"

Akmal shuffles about. "Just get _on_ with it already."

So Yao kneels on the bed and shoves his partner's pants off, exposing a cock red with excitement. Yao giggles, but doesn't speak a word, as he lifts Akmal's leg up and presses a gentle kiss to his thigh. He appreciates the shiver, and spreads Akmal open. True to his conservatism indeed; Akmal appears to be almost completely untouched. He knows that his lover has used toys before so Yao makes no effort in lathering his fingers with lube and prodding. He expects the light groan that Akmal utters through gritted teeth but not being pulled down by the hair in a sloppy kiss. Excited indeed, Yao ponders.

Ever so delicately Yao pushes the vibrator into Akmal. The Pakistani whines, gripping the pillow with great anticipation, eyes begging for his partner to get to it. Yao turns it on and sits back, taking in the sight with unexpected hunger. Akmal lets out a surprised moan that intermingles with the loud buzzing. Yao feels a bit awkward at this point, just sitting there watching Akmal enjoying himself, so he lays down next to his datefriend and begins to stroke him.

"Feels good?" Yao can't help but ask.

"Shut up," Akmal replies, and he throws his head back as he pushes the vibrator deeper into himself. "Holy _shit_."

The Chinese man aids his lover by licking and biting at his ears and jawline, helping to all the sweet spots he's aware of. Judging by how Akmal's moans grow higher in pitch he's about to climax; Yao grips Akmal's balls tightly and turns the vibrator on maximum. Akmal's cock releasing fluid onto his belly is joined by a howl of pure delight. His body simmers, and he collapses onto the bed puffing.

The vibrator is carefully pulled out by Yao as he sits up again. He pats Akmal a few times on the head before noticing that his pants most certainly felt tighter than before.

Akmal turns his head to Yao's bulge, eyes half lidded, and smirks. "Your turn."


	5. Snowflake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aahan sees his first snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was another collaboration between Sammya and I (Shilly). Aahan/Akmal's portions were written by me, and Nalin's were written by Sammya.
> 
> We agree that Aahan most likely met Mani/Niral (Nepal) during an adventure to the Himalayas. In the modern day, Akmal is no stranger to snow, as the northern part of his geography is basically mountains, mountains and more mountains.
> 
> It's slight but important to see that Nalin misgenders Mani/Niral because he is a terrible human being. Shame on you Nalin.

Through his bright eyes, Aahan took in all that he could of his environment. There was something about the outside world that utterly fascinated him. His spirit screamed for him to explore at any chance he got, but that was difficult to act on what with him being around three years old in human years. When Nalin took him out to see new parts of their vast territory, he squealed with delight, toddling away from his elder brother’s grasp and often times falling on his face in the process. It seemed that Aahan was aware of his appreciation for nature.

So when Aahan caught sight of his first snow, his body wasn’t yet developed enough to emote just how amazed he felt inside.

 

It was difficult to watch over a young child as adventurous as Aahan could be, but Nalin managed somehow. He hadn’t seen snow in a long time, so it was amusing to watch his brother’s eyes widen, and babble as he struggled to find words to talk about what was before him. Nalin caught a snowflake in his hand, and then showed Aahan how quickly it had disappeared. The small boy squealed and laughed, and Nalin caught him up in the air and placed him on his shoulders, making sure he was safe before walking onward. He knew the way well, to that mysterious kingdom full of one of their siblings. Nalin wanted her to meet Aahan, to ask her if she knew why he was there.

She was not home when they got to her home, and her neighbors said that she was away. He took Aahan off of his shoulders and set him down as they prepared to wait. He settled on the ground and watched Aahan look around himself in amazement.

 

“Bhai-bhai! What is this?” Aahan’s vocabulary wasn’t very broad in the first place, yet he still could not find the words in his limited vernacular to describe his excitement. He placed his bare hand on the solid white material, and bounced back with a shriek: it was _cold_! The strange substance was significantly more freezing than the already chilly air around him. His babbling became incoherent as he, on instinct, jumped into the cold white fluff and rolled around in it.

“Bhai-bhai, come’re! It’s fun! It’s fun!” He exclaimed. While he tossed and tumbled around in the whiteness that caked his clothing, he bumped into a taller figure. When he looked up, a woman was what greeted him.

 

“Ah,” Nalin said, and he was bemused as Mani was gentle with Aahan in a way she had never been gentle with him. When they had first met, he was pretty sure she beat him. Yet now, she takes the toddler by hand and tells him that everything around him is snow.

Aahan stumbled over the words, and pulled away from Mani to come and cup his face to hear it said from him.

“Snow,” he said as Aahan held his jaw.

“Snow,” Aahan repeated, and then ran back to play in the snow. Mani scooped up a handful and dumped it on Nalin’s head.

“I did not know you had a son.”

“No,” Nalin corrected her, “he is just our brother, Aahan.” 


	6. Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nalin and Ivan are a little tipsy. Sexual encounters ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Shilly!
> 
> I tried not to make them totally drunk, cause, y'know, drunk sex is a really slippery slope. So tipsy-but-still-conscious-enough-to-make-decisions sex. Enjoy.

To Ivan, the situation seems to have spiraled out of control. To Nalin, things were lining up exactly as they should. They're only tipsy, not drunk--or, at least, that's what they're saying they are. It's only their first bottle of vodka, after all. Nalin isn't as tolerant, is what worries Ivan. They want to go through with it, but he doesn't want Nalin to have any more.

He snatches the bottle from Nalin's clammy hand. Ignoring the cry of indignation he takes a swig then sets the bottle down on the counter. "No more."

"Ffffuck you. I'm fine." Already slurring.

"I want to play it safe. I don't want anyone to get hurt," explains Ivan; he talks incredibly slowly, partly to get his concerns through his intoxicated partner's head, and partly because he too is beginning to feel the world around him fizzle away. Nalin makes a strange noise of frustration and hobbles over to the couch, collapsing on it. Ivan is beckoned over by Nalin so the two would lay next to each other--or, rather, on top of each other.

"So what do we do?" Ivan blinks slowly.

Nalin bites his lip, then looks back at his boyfriend. "Want to ride me?"

The Russian's flushed face turns a shade darker. "I'm afraid I might be too... big for that."

" _Baas._ I'm not some fragile thing. Ride me."

There’s a few moments of hesitation on Ivan’s end, and it is not unwarranted, as the face Nalin is making isn’t the most attractive in the world. Even still, the Russian trusts the Indian even in his buzz, and so Ivan slides off his trousers, awkwardly unbuttons his shirt, and takes the time to prepare himself with lube, all within Nalin's line of sight. Nalin purrs as Ivan settles himself down on his cock; Ivan can't help but groan as Nalin hungrily grabs at his thighs. Nalin was akin to a hunting tiger when he was aroused: quiet as he prepares, but when the action begins, he pounces on it. Ivan glances into Nalin’s eyes, and he is relieved to see consciousness in them, not the glaze of drunkenness. His lover is just tipsy and rather horny, not drunk.

He gives himself the go-ahead to sink himself further down on Nalin. His partner mutters sweet nothings in a variety of languages while he bucks his hips, and there is a burst of mutual pleasure between the two as the friction goes both ways. They’re sweating and woozy from their buzz, but they keep at it, grasping at hands and thighs and Nalin is stroking Ivan in a heated frenzy until they both burst in unified ecstasy.

They clean up their mess rather lazily, but they don’t bother to put their clothes back on. Nalin eyes the bottle of vodka, so Ivan hands it to him. “I think it’s alright now.”

“Thank you for being so considerate,” Nalin jokes, as he takes a sip.


	7. Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akmal and Nalin get into a nasty fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Shilly!
> 
> I wrote this one while I was sick, so it's shorter than the other ones. I hope it still suffices!

If they weren't focused on the curdling blaze in their stomachs, the hate burning in their throat like rising bile, maybe they would refrain from kicking and attempting to wrench their arms from the grasps of fellow nations. Akmal spit like an angry cat at the European country scolding him for acting so very poorly. Nalin believed he was better than that, so he didn't snap at the peacemakers holding him back--consciously, at least.

It was hard to tell what prompted the fight from getting so ugly, and if you had to ask either of them, they'd both tell a very different story. Nalin claimed that Akmal made a seething comment about the Indian army abusing their power in Kashmir. Akmal sputtered that Nalin sneered that he would cut off Akmal's water supply if his army got too close to the border. No one seemed to know what was the truth, but it didn't matter. What did matter was that the flame burned inside their guts so fiercely that when the both of them were released, Akmal swung a punch at Nalin, and Nalin reciprocated by kicking his sibling in the shin.

The two were eventually suspended from coming to world meetings for a week. Nalin grumbled the day he and Akmal were let back into the UN headquarters; he said he had no right to be treated like a misbehaving infant when Akmal provoked the fight. Akmal wanted to respond by snapping again. Inside his head he counted to ten, and all was well. At that moment.

"I'm glad you two seemed to have settled things," Ludwig mused. That condescending I'm-European-so-I'm-better-than-you tone made them both seethe inside.

"Trust me, we feel that way, too." Nalin put on a fake smile and shrugged. Akmal, being himself, was quiet, but he nodded while looking away.

The meeting was dismissed, and as the nations filed out the doors, Nalin and Akmal shared a second-long glance.

This was all your fault, Akmal's lips seemed to mouth.

I'm ready for a rematch any time, Nalin wanted to respond.


	8. Formal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akmal doesn't like afterparties. Apparently Emran doesn't, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Shilly!
> 
> Woohoo, awkward dialogue between estranged siblings! Emran is fun to write. He's such a sarcastic asshole, but he's got a good heart. I like that in characters.

“Sorry. Excuse me.”

Akmal shoulders past a group of European nations mingling by the doorway; the stench of alcohol sharp on their suits. They catch sight of him and howl their complaints but the Pakistani rushes away from them in an effort to rid his nose of the awful smell. For Akmal, alcohol isn’t just haraam, it’s a sickening drug. The stench is overwhelming, and it makes good people transform into fools. And the most unfortunate thing is that practically everyone is drunk at the afterparty. Akmal assumes it’s because a resolution had been reached at the Security Council for something involving Israel or Iran or something--something that was probably painful to resolve. But that’s what he is assuming. He wasn’t paying attention the day before.

“Bloody fucking hell.” Akmal wants to pinch his nose when it picks up the smell of cheap perfume and spirits billowing from Francis’ dress like a skunk’s spray. Desperately searching from a place away from all the hustle and bustle and the need to vomit, Akmal locates a table in the corner of the auditorium. Only one other person is sitting there--he hopes they don’t mind him taking a seat.

He sits down, and glances at the other person for a moment. He catches sight of scraggly dark hair--it’s Emran. His brother is taking a drag from a cigarette, another haraam object of pacification for those weak in the soul. Akmal takes pity.

“You wanted to get away from the drunks too, nah?” Emran’s voice makes Akmal nearly jump out of his seat. He’s not used to the light and airy voice that he was once familiar with as a child. Akmal slowly looks over, and notices that Emran is attempting to catch his eye. Akmal has not locked gazes with those big brown eyes in decades.

Akmal gulps, shuffling in his seat. “Y-y-yes. Drunks piss me off.” He wrinkles his nose at Emran’s smoking polluting the fresh air around them. “Why would you put off drinking, yet smoke? They are the same thing. Toxins.”

“You like getting your dick sucked. Being a sex fiend is toxic as well.” Emran’s response is poised and collected.

“B-but that’s not me anymore,” Akmal objects. Emran raises an eyebrow, and the Pakistani’s shoulders sag. “Nahi, I guess you have a point.”

Emran doesn’t reply, but he turns his head towards the party. “You don’t have to be so afraid of talking to me, you know.” When Akmal, too, fails to respond, he looks back at his elder sibling. “Fine, then. Stay quiet.”

An awkward silence ensues, its loudness flooding the roar of the party. Venezuela passes by the two dry countries, and eyes Akmal, winking at him as she walks away. “You look good, Akmal.”

Akmal tries to hide his blush, but to no avail. He can hear Emran’s snicker.

“She’s got a point, bhai. You don’t look half bad.”


	9. Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tashi reflects on his relationship with Nalin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Sammya! A bit late but whatever.

The first time Nalin gives him a key to his house, it’s with a bit of hesitation as if he’s not sure Tashi will accept it or not. Tashi would feel offended if he didn’t know his brother so well. Nalin is alone now. Aahan, now Akmal, has abandoned him for his own freedom, and the rest of their siblings are fighting for their own independence. He alone has chosen to stay where he is, already free, and not having to fight. His battle is won, but his brother’s wages on.

Tashi can see it in the tight twist of his eyebrows, almost touching as he frowns. The frown is there to stay more often than not. Nalin can’t find his inner peace, torn apart as his people are growing.

“We could’ve worked things out. They would have no grounds to stand if he hadn’t had left,” Nalin says sometimes. But Tashi knows he doesn’t believe that. He knows that Nalin knew this day would come, had been coming since their younger sibling’s creation. Nalin mourns Aahan in one breath, and curses his name in the next.

The loss of a constant in his life destabilizes his brother, and it is up to Tashi to pick up the pieces. He does so, because that is what he has chosen to do.

 

***

 

The next time his brother gives him a key, he’s moved into a home that he will keep as his own for the next sixty years. It has large open spaces, and is decorated with artifacts that Nalin secreted away from the greed of white men. In this house, Nalin sets aside a room just for Tashi, and for his prayers. Tashi realizes it’s Nalin’s way of asking him to stay, to give the honor of his company to him. And so Tashi thanks him, and tells him that he will use it when he comes for visits.

“That’s all I ask,” Nalin says, and if he is disappointed that Tashi doesn’t stay for longer than the weekend, he doesn’t let on.

 

***

 

Nalin is not the best at drinking, and he is not the most healthy of people. His brother is a hypocrite, and still Tashi loves him. He knows that Nalin needs him, and he needs him just as much. They have been companions for a long time, and have seen each other at their worse and at their best. Tashi is not perfect, but he has mastered himself after long, long years. He used to be violent in his youth, despite how he is now. He had had to fight fiercely for his independence. He had even taken up arms against Nalin, but now they are what they are. Now he has achieved what he wanted all those years.

Nalin is not just a friend, and he is not just his brother, their bond is stronger than that without a touch of the sexual or romance that Nalin invests in his other relationships. He is probably the person who knows Nalin the best in the entire world. And Nalin is the one that knows him the best, even if he doesn’t realize it at times.


	10. Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While planning for their next vacation, Keshini stumbles across something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Sammya!
> 
> This was a quick write up, as these drabbles are meant to be. And is all mostly dialogue so nice exercise.

“What is this?” Keshini asks, and Nalin’s not sure why she’s made herself at home, but he answers her. She’s standing by his bookcase and examining a silver knife.

“A knife.”

Sana laughs at the table, and he smiles at her and turns the page on the guidebook as he leans against the couch. He winces when Keshini throws a book at his back.

“I know it’s a _knife_ or what passes for a knife. It’s old. Why do you have it? Where did it come from?” Keshini asks questions without waiting for an answer.

“Keshini, breathe. It came from our mother’s lover.”

“What?” Sana asks and now she looks interested in what they’re talking about, “Our father you mean?”

“She was a human so not likely,” Nalin says, and closes the book. He can sense his sisters wanting an explanation, so he settles in his armchair. The knife is propped up on the bookcase that Keshini turns from. Out of everything in the house it rarely gets comments. “Her name was Neyen, and she loved our mother truly. She never married, and took care of me and raised me in Mathra’s place. She died out of grief for Mathra who never returned. Mathra left her this knife to protect herself and as a symbol that she was beloved of Aaradhya, is what I believe at least.”

“And how did you get a hold of it?” Keshini asks, setting on the couch, crossing her brown legs, and frowning at him. She’s always _frowning_ at him. It’s a bit intimidating.

“Neyen gave it to me before she died. I took a lot with me when I left, but this has seen hell with me and is all I have left of them.”

“Why do you say they were lovers?” Sana asked, “Plenty of women raised me, and I wouldn’t say they were lovers with Aaradhya.”

“Well, they kissed a lot, so who knows what they did when not in front of a child?” Nalin says.

“It’s adult things, Sana dear,” Keshini says, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Oh be quiet, I may look young but my passport says twenty-five so respect that!” Sana protests, “But that’s cool, Nalin, that you’ve kept that all these years.”

“Yes, of course,” Nalin looks at the knife, and smiles just a bit sadly, “It saw me die a few times.”

“. . . well that’s overdramatic of you to say,” Keshini said, “We’ve all died at least once, no need to be all torn up about it.”

“You never left me have anything, Keshini,” Nalin protests.

“Your head is big enough as is, no need to let it get bigger. I am doing my sisterly duty. Now,” she turns to Sana at the table, who is sitting on the floor legs crossed. “Where do you want to go? We went to Japan last time.”

“Oh, hm,” Sana looks down at the guidebooks in front of her, “Russia?”

“No,” Keshini says, “We are not visiting another one of his lover’s homelands.”

“Ivan is my friend,” Nalin protests, “And he would be happy if we visited.”

Keshini just looks at him, “No.”

 _She really is too hard on me_ , Nalin cannot help but think.

“Sana, Keshini is bullying me.”

“Keshini, stop bullying Nalin. No wait, you both leave each other alone and help me! Be more serious about this!” Nalin doesn’t need his baby faced sister to tell him that twice. 


	11. Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the middle of play, Ivan uses their safe word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Sammya. 
> 
> This was fun to write!

Ivan could tell just from the way that Nalin was touching him that his head wasn’t in their lovemaking. He did something he rarely did, and he safeworded. Once he was untied from his bedposts, he and Nalin had a talk on why he had, and soon with a sigh, Nalin agreed to switch positions.

“You need this,” Ivan said, tying the blindfold around Nalin’s head, and securing it over his eyes. “Don’t you, Indya?” It was a test to see if Nalin would obey or not. If not they would be done for the night.

Nalin scowled, “I thought you were the one who needed this, dear one.” When Ivan just smiled at him and kept his hands on Nalin’s blindfolded head, the Indian sighed before admitting defeat. “I need this.”

“I will get what I need from you getting what you need,” Ivan said, and then urged him on his back, and tied Nalin up in the bonds that had been meant for himself. “Test them.”

When the rope didn’t give, and the bed didn’t move, Ivan kissed him once and then left him for a moment. Nalin’s head was always a confusing blend of chaos and disorder, and so rarely peace and quiet like he projected to the world, Ivan knew. He picked up a candle from their earlier session and relit it. While that readied itself, Ivan rearranged Nalin into another position.

“I’m going to paint you,” Ivan said once the wax was ready, “Can you hold still for me?”

There was a loosening of Nalin’s scowl now, and his words weren’t as challenging as before, “Mhm, go ahead.”

Ivan drew the first line, and watched as Nalin melted into his sheets. The red stood out on his brown skin like blood, and yet, Ivan kept up his decorations. He traced swirls and lines and patterns that he half remembered until Nalin’s chest and stomach were covered with wax.

“Can I take a picture?” he asked as he wrapped a hand around Nalin’s dick and jerked him until he was standing proud.

“Only if I can see,” Nalin answered quietly, subdued at last.


End file.
